


Art

by LittleRedRoseontheValley (TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns)



Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Art, Courtly Love, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Politics, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28884489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns/pseuds/LittleRedRoseontheValley
Summary: She was special. Drake had the honour of seeing it every day. Even if it was all he could ever do.
Relationships: Drake Walker/Main Character (The Royal Romance), Liam/Main Character (The Royal Romance)
Kudos: 11





	Art

Drake Walker was not anything special. 

Compared to her, at the absolute least. 

There are not many people that would blink twice about this statement. Growing up as the slum friend of a bunch of aristocrats tended to do a number on one’s self-confidence. It was the only way to survive in that environment.

His father was a bodyguard, the chief of security for their former Queen, Regina, third wife of Constantine. He died jumping in front of a bullet shot at her. His mother could never get over the fact that her husband loved their monarch-consort more than he did her, and so she moved away, leaving her two children behind.

Nevertheless, he did manage to carve a life for himself, even if just barely an arm’s length of the court, being the Crown Attorney and whatnot. He was handsome, intelligent, cultured, sharp-witted, with a good grasp on others’ characters, a fierce tongue, and overall a strictly analytical and determined man.

He knows he got the position because of his personal connections, but, by God, he would make a good job out of it, and he usually did. He ran with a tight iron fist, and managed to administer it quite efficiently at that.

Had it been anyone else, only the most superb compliments would be given to Drake Walker, for his countrymen and colleagues alike would likely think of him in the highest regard, as an example of a man. Yet, he was still the King’s commoner friend and, perhaps only because of this reason, if you asked Drake Walker about himself, the first thing he would tell you was that he was nothing special. 

There was nothing special about him. 

She, however, was a different story. 

Riley Flowers, the American, as if it was a bad word, had never stood out very much in court. She was their monarch’s caged bird, his kept woman, that fulfilled him when and where Queen Madeline could not.

On that capacity, she spent most of her time at the dower house, with full use of the garden, where she practiced her stills. For Liam, it was convenient, the smaller manor was as far as possible from the nobles, so to avoid controversy and humiliation, but close enough so that she could be easily reached by her lover whenever the will strikes him.

Her presence amongst them was the product of a scandal, the last adventure of the King, one that lasted much too long, but she did not have much on the way of obvious quality.

She was neither ugly nor beautiful, with her short black hair and eyes like a murky river. She does not seem too sociable, detesting the inane conversations of the aristocracy, and she had no grasp or interest for the social rules and circuitous pastimes that ruled their behaviour for so many centuries. One would have difficulty to pinpoint what exactly about her their sovereign liked.

However, if you took a close look, something Drake had been doing for years, ever since his friend brought her into the country, one would find beauty in unexpected places.

Riley is not really beautiful, but she creates beauty.

Beauty defined itself in terms of her art, the attorney concluded. While most stared at a canvas as a blank piece of space, she saw a breath of life. It would start with a coating of the canvas, her eyes working out the little details necessary to draw together the big picture that sat in the back of her mind. Then, her brush would stroke the canvas. Not carelessly, no, she was far more precise. Each stroke was angled in a defined arch. Each different from the first, yet the results closely resembled one another. 

Her work was something she got lost in. She would not even notice as someone walked in, and Drake would seize those opportunities to admire her, his eyes falling to her paint stained hands and the flecks of colour across her face along with her freckles.

He smiled softly. The image always brought him calm and happiness.

It was the big picture she strived for. However, the detailed strokes were what gave the piece its uniqueness. Beauty made itself apparent in her at its rawest form, the form of creation.

Ms. Flowers always seemed to have the entire world all figured out, she seemed to know something the rest of them mortals would never know. That woman was a figure of mythology. She was both Prometheus, moulding her creations as she wished, and then finally Athena, breathing life into the picture. 

When the painting was finished, her honey-brown eyes would scan it over, her fingers twiddling along her lip as she smiled in pride. It was those moments that shone through in her character. She was not very smart; she was not particularly cultured and she was neither plain nor divinely gorgeous.

Drake Walker was intelligent. He was sharp-witted, savvy and seasoned. Yet, he was not an artist. He could never stare at a canvas and not see a blank piece of space. He could not stroke a brush in the utmost perfect degree to get the result he wanted. He could not nor would he ever be able to do what she did so easily. 

Arguing at the highest courts and halls of the kingdom, while a seemingly noble form of work, would never compare to the arts. What did he do, really? Defended the horrible, horrible behaviour from the royals. Procured loopholes of all natures for the passing of ridiculous laws at Parliament, benefitting no-one.

He did the grunt work of the monarchy, while she, while the arts kept people like him alive. It provoked emotion, something that dry conversation between wigged men on dusty buildings could never do. 

She was special. 

Drake Walker had the honour of seeing it every day. Even if it was all he could ever do.

He wonders if his friend loved that woman as much as he did.


End file.
